


Wind

by whitachi



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Clockwork Kink, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-21 23:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitachi/pseuds/whitachi
Summary: It's a Regency AU and instead of androids they're clockwork men and Simon is Markus's valet. I don't feel like I need to tell you anything other than that.





	Wind

**Author's Note:**

> how did this happen to me. how did I end up writing this. what has detroit become human done to my life. 
> 
> Anyway, as always, dedicated to the Jerries. And to Cat Sebastian.

Simon judged the hour by the way the slivers of light from the windows crept across the rugs in the front hall. He easily could have consulted his internal clock to know the time with far more accuracy, but he found something satisfying in observing the natural progression of things. It wouldn't be much longer now. He stood by the door and waited until he heard the sound of hooves coming near and then coming to a stop, and then footfalls approaching the door. He opened it.

"Welcome home, sir," he said as Markus entered his home. He took his greatcoat and hat and hung them appropriately, smiling a little as Markus murmured a soft word of thanks. His expression was tense, though, brows drawn and mouth pressed to a tight line. "There's brandy and the evening papers in the sitting room if you'd like."

"Excellent," Markus said, and headed in that direction. Simon held the door open for him. "I need one more than the other."

Markus settled himself into a chair near the fire and grumbled faintly as Simon poured a small amount of brandy into a snifter. "I take it today's meetings did not go as desired, sir," he said as he handed Markus the brandy.

Markus held the glass beneath his nose and closed his eyes. As clockwork men, they did not take food or drink, but found satisfaction in the aromas. "No, Simon, I can say they did not." Markus swirled the glass and briefly lifted the paper that was folded on the table before him, gave it one glance, and then groaned and let it drop back. "Humanity is very difficult, and obstinate, and downright _stupid_ at times."

"If I may speak freely, sir," Simon said, "I'm inclined to agree." Simon's experiences with humans were ones he'd prefer to forget, if it were only possible. He was more than happy to have been taken in as one of Markus's staff, who were all clockwork.

"You should always speak freely, Simon, I've told you that," Markus said, sounding a little less tense and a little more fond in a way that made things inside of Simon whirr and spin. Markus sighed and set the glass of brandy aside after one more sniff. "I know that they hate me. I know that they _resent_ me, resent my very presence. But at the same time they're so proud of themselves that they allow me space in their ranks, that they deign to at least pretend to listen to my opinions."

"If they were actually wise, they'd do more than pretend," Simon said. Before the revolution, Markus had served a role much like Simon did now, but to a human man, a duke of Detroit. And after the revolution, Markus had found himself named heir and holding the title himself, to the dismay and distress of the rest of the nation's nobility.

"I grow very tired of being humored," Markus said, and when Simon straightened up, he laughed a little. "No, no, not by you, you're not just humoring me. They simply think that because we've been granted the most basic of rights that we should be content now. As though accepting me as one of them means that everything has been perfectly solved. As though all of the injustices have ceased." He put a hand to his brow. Simon watched through the creases in his skull where the shadows of the gears spinning within him. "Sometimes I think I should walk away from it all."

Simon stood still, feeling the heat of the fireplace. "I will go with you, should you ever decide to," he said, even though he absolutely did not want to leave the comfort he'd grown accustomed to. Before the revolution, before he'd met Markus, he'd worked in the factories. He still remembered the endless toil, still felt the creaks in his inner workings that he would never fully lose after so much overwork. But if not for Markus, he'd still be there. He had to trust Markus wouldn't lead him back there.

Markus shook his head. "I'm just frustrated. But that's as much fresh news as the sun setting in the evening." The hall clock chimed at that moment, and Markus groaned. Simon made note that it was slightly off; his internal clock told him it was a minute fast. He'd tend to it later. "All day arguing with the brilliant lords of Detroit and now I have to turn around and socialize with them, too."

"You could stay home," Simon suggested. Markus's calendar was kept so engaged that there were rarely evenings he spent in his own home. Simon had been teaching himself the pianoforte while Markus was away. He let the thought of Markus staying home from the ball and allowing him to provide the evening's entertainment pass through him, just a momentary breeze that made him shiver.

Markus shook his head. "I'd be missed. By which I mean, my absence would give rise to gossip. Not that attending will stop that, but at least I can have some more control over what shape it takes." He lifted his brandy glass for one last departing whiff before standing up. "Best dress for it, then."

Simon opened the door for Markus and headed upstairs towards his rooms. Simon had selected a few possibilities for the evening's dress earlier in the day. "Would you prefer the green, or the burgundy?" he asked, proffering the respectively colored waistcoats.

"The green," he said, and Simon kept his smile as small as he could. He always thought green suited Markus best; it brought out how beautiful his eyes were. He helped Markus remove the more drab clothing he'd worn for the day's worth of official duties, and paused when he was in shirtsleeves.

"Sir, would you like to be oiled before this evening?" he asked. Humans needed to eat and drink, and clockwork men needed to keep their inner workings operating smoothly. It was Simon's duty and pleasure to do it for Markus.

Markus looked into his eyes for a moment, and Simon let his gaze drop in deference. He knew that Markus wasn't fully comfortable with all this. With being served, with being waited upon. He'd been in Simon's place before, and not of his own free well. But Simon _wanted_ to be here, wanted to care for Markus's house, his affairs, for... for Markus himself. He could think of no better use he could put his life to.

"Yes, I suppose that's for the best," he said, and removed his shirt. Simon retrieved the bottle of oil as Markus found with his fingertips the seams in his framework that would allow him to open the front of his chest.

Simon didn't want to seem too eager. It would be inappropriate, completely out of line for him to show how much he _savored_ getting to see Markus like this. He didn't tend to his own gears with the care that he showed for Markus. He carefully deposited just the right amount of oil within Markus's inner workings, finding the cogs and gears that needed it the most, making sure his operations would be nothing other than smooth and comfortable.

"You're good with this, Simon," Markus said softly, and Simon gripped the bottle of oil tighter. "You're very careful." Simon kept his eyes on Markus's gears, but he could hear him smile. "You're much better than when I was still doing this myself."

"Thank you, sir," he said as he tended to Markus's joints. He held Markus's hand in his as he settled oil into the nooks of his fingers.

"You don't have to call me sir," Markus said, and for a moment, a wild, stupid moment, Simon imagined his fingers closed around his own. He drew his hand away and knelt to tend to Markus's hips and knees.

"I'll try to remember that," he said, keeping the _sir_ tucked beneath his tongue for now. He rose to his feet. "I noticed that you could use a winding as well." He didn't, he absolutely didn't. Simon didn't know why he'd lied. No, he knew, but he didn't want to admit it.

"Not surprising, the way the humans wear me down," Markus said, and gestured towards his still-exposed insides. "Please."

Simon nodded his head and stepped just a little closer to reach his hand into the center of Markus's chest. He felt wound too tight himself as he rested his fingers on the raised edges of Markus's winding crown. He was better built than Simon was, made of better parts. Simon knew that before he knew it intimately, having seen and touched those parts himself. It made him feel like something more than he was to be so near someone so exquisitely made. He wound Markus carefully, so as not to go too tight, and slowly, so as to savor the experience. He would wind himself tonight and think of this, think of how it felt to touch perfection.

"There, finished," he said as he withdrew his hand, and was so bold as to close the panels of Markus's chest himself. Markus brushed a hand over his torso as seals clicked into place again.

"Thank you, Simon, I needed that more than I realized," he said, and Simon had to look away from the smile he gave him. "Now, right, time to don my armor for the next great battle."

Simon dressed him with the same care he'd taken with his inner workings. His shirt was taut and tucked underneath the buff breeches that Simon had selected for him. He took his time buttoning each of the twelve golden buttons on Markus's bottle-green waistcoat, and was fastidious in the tying of his cravat. He made sure that Markus's boots were unscuffed before lacing them up over Markus's calves. He took a brush over Markus's shoulders after he'd slipped him into his coat, removing any stray fibers. The end result was... Simon couldn't really allow the appropriate word to come to mind. He was proud of his work, and he could leave it at that.

Markus inspected himself in the mirror and gave a nod of approval. "They won't be able to fault my fashion, at least," he said, and smiled at Simon. "Good work, Simon."

"My pleasure, sir," he said, because it was. He straightened his own shirt and gave Markus a small nod. "If you're ready, I'll summon the carriage."

"Please," Markus said, still preening a little in the mirror. It made Simon tick inside to see him enjoy his work. "No need to delay the inevitable."

He saw Markus out the door and into the carriage, heading off into the evening for a night of dancing and conversation that Markus would find absolutely tedious and infuriating. Simon would hear all about it later. It would be hours before Markus returned.

Simon returned to the dressing room and collected the day clothing that Markus had taken off. He shook out wrinkles and brushed off dust, preparing to return it to the cabinets. But he paused for just a moment, Markus's dark grey coat in his arms. He could feel his own tick loud in his ears, steady as always, but there was more to it. Every tick within him felt like the echo of a name. _Markus, Markus, Markus_.

He held the coat to his face, taking in Markus's aroma, and whispered, "Markus."


End file.
